Vices
by Tangledupandsideways
Summary: "You know, some people say sharing a cigarette is like sharing a kiss."


_September, 2002_

 _-/-_

Days like this were impossible. Gillian Foster pushed hard at the Pentagon doors before stepping through, letting them swing shut behind her. The force as they settled back in their frame released a tension from her. But it wasn't enough. She groaned a small sound, pushing her hair out of her face. It had been a long, long day. It seemed everyone was especially resistant to her advice today. And that final patient- no, _client_ , that's what they were called now- was really draining.

Gillian looked up to the sky, the sun unusually hot, then surveyed the area. She noticed Dr. Lightman right away, by the trash can in front of the building. She had known they worked at the same place but it was a large building and they served different departments. And surely, he'd have fieldwork while she'd stay inside. So she had yet to see him outside of her evaluations. And now those were over. But she didn't really want their talks to be over. She had enjoyed those evaluations, grisly as they might be. So Gillian made her choice and walked to him.

Dr. Lightman had just lit a cigarette and it still burned orange from his inhale. She watched the smoke rise from the end as he nodded at her in greeting.

"Can I have one?" Gillian asked, gesturing at his hand.

His slight smirk, constantly present, slowly grew. Then he threw his head back with laughter. He really might as well have gripped his sides and bent over with the intensity of the sound. Gillian smirked herself.

"You? A smoker?" He replied, eyebrows raised. "You were drinking slushie at our last session."

Gillian raised an eyebrow of her own, trying and failing to look stern.

"Never took you for the type of man to judge prematurely," she said. She let the joking slip from her voice. "I've had a day."

He looked perplexed a minute. She wondered if she hadn't made clear enough that she meant a long day, maybe even a bad one. But he was a face reader after all. And his science seemed sound.

"Fair's fair, love," he said after a beat.

He took one more quick drag from the cigarette then handed it to her. His eyes were on her hands as she plucked it between her fingers and brought it to her mouth to take a cautious drag.

She'd promised her husband of six months that she'd quit after all the stress of the wedding. But at times like these, she craved them. The taste, the ritual, the drug. The vice.

Apparently, she had passed Lightman's test. He smirked as she blew the smoke out slowly and leaned against the wall. Maybe he was even a bit smug.

"You know, some people say sharing a cigarette is like sharing a kiss," he quipped.

Gillian rolled her eyes. Smug had been right.

"I don't think you're meant to kiss your shrink," he added, shrugging.

He had pulled lit up a new cigarette and now waved it in front of him, the smoke ribboning in his wake. Ash fell from the end.

"You're no longer my client," Gillian said.

"So I can kiss you?"

It was a challenge. He impeded on her space, tried to get her to back down. Gillian had seen it coming from a mile away, having learned enough from their previous sessions. He didn't trust easily. So she would.

She didn't move away. She just shook her head and laughed.

"What would our spouses say?"

She made the joke with a false expression of concern.

"Hmm," Cal said. "I suppose you're right. I'll just have to put on my moral superiority and step back."

Cal moved away from her, leaning against the wall himself.

"I suppose so," Gillian said.

They finished cigarettes in comfortable silence. Soon Gillian was crushing the butt under the toe of her heel and bending to pick it up. Always the good girl, tossing the ashy, lipstick smudged filter into the nearest trash can. She imagined that would amuse Lightman too.

"Well, thanks." Gillian gestured vaguely. "I should go."

"Gonna be in trouble?" Cal asked.

He seemed to be more curious than concerned. He'd never asked her about her personal life. She wouldn't have been able to answer, really, even if she wanted to. And she would. She had felt instantly comfortable with Cal Lightman.

"Maybe," Gillian said, her eyes lighting up in mirth.

"Me too." Cal grinned.

Gillian smiled back.

"Good luck." She paused for a breath. "You know, with everything. I'll see you around, I guess."

"Not if I see you first."

Yeah, Gillian thought, they could definitely be friends _._

* * *

 _August, 2012_

 _-/-_

Cases like this were hard to shake. It was as if the disgrace was caught up under Gillian's skin. She felt unclean just by being near it and just couldn't stop her fingers trembling as she left the courthouse, Cal on her heels. She felt a gag rising up in her with the way her stomach churned. A miscarriage of justice had just occurred. A guilty man gone free just because of a technicality. Gillian wanted to retch but couldn't.

Cal stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, turned her to face him. She wouldn't give him anything. She set her jaw and let him watch her face, as blank as she could make it even knowing he'd be able to tell what she'd be feeling whether or not he could see it. Cal sighed in response to whatever it was he _was_ seeing and reached into his suit pocket.

He pulled out a single cigarette, waved it about in a tempting offer. The phantom taste of illicit cigarette smoke filled Gillian's mouth. She almost drooled.

"I thought you'd quit," she said.

"Not everything has to be permanent," Cal said.

He leaned against the reddish brown bricks. "Did it for Em and she's not here now, is she?"

Gillian watched him warily, stomach suddenly sinking. She felt cold all over as the truth of where he was going with this really hit her. He stood absolutely perfectly still and just looked right into her. He didn't even light the cigarette. No, it was meant for her and not him.

It's not good for us, Gillian wanted to say as his jaw twitched. She shook her head when he finally offered her the cigarette on a flat palm.

" _I_ quit," she said. "Ages ago."

There'd really only been a half a pack between that first bummed cigarette from Cal and that day Alec had thrown the rest of hers away, making some kind of ultimatum Gillian couldn't remember the exact stakes of. How ironic that it was _his_ addiction that had ruined their marriage in the end.

Cal's voice was intense, his face expressionless.

"It's not good for you," he said. And his voice was quieter, gravelly almost.

She didn't even fully know what he was talking about, whether it was her smoking habit or their habit of always ending up in this place, this almost, then retreating. Or maybe even the two of them in general, breaking and putting back the pieces. It made her dizzy to think about so she just nodded.

He lit up the cigarette himself, took a deep drag and blew the smoke out in a ring. She wondered where he'd learned that, imagined a younger Cal sitting on a curb somewhere, showing off half-wonky loops to a pretty girl he'd already charmed out of all good sense.

The smoke faded into the sky and Gillian's fingers twitched. Her lungs expanded to beg for a taste. Fuck. Vices never did go away.

She grabbed his wrist without conscious control of her limbs, angled it to direct the cigarette to her mouth. She sucked in a lungful, still gripping his wrist tightly, closed her eyes to the feeling, the ache, the craving.

When she opened her eyes, all she could see were his, dark and drawn to the neutral lipstick on the filter, the remaining on her mouth. He just watched her, scandalized, unmoving. He hadn't even tried to pull his hand away.

And then he was leaning closer, angling Gillian closer to the wall and letting his free hand frame her side. Gillian dropped his wrist, hands hovering so close to his back.

"You know what they say, right?" he asked her.

He was so close, Gillian could feel each word gush breath in her face. And it was electric. She had already tilted up her head, breathing heavily. Gillian kissed him, fisting her hands up in the back of his dress shirt. He leaned closer, pressed harder, his palm sliding down to her hip and gripping there.

Gillian let out a little moan and her hands slackened in the fabric. She could taste smoke on his breath and just _him_ underneath. He dropped the cigarette, his other hand winding into her hair, pushing her into the wall just shy of her head impacting.

She could almost hear his heartbeat, all her vices wrapped up in one person.

Finally, she pulled away, completely breathless. She was still so close that when she spoke, she couldn't see his eyes.

"It's like sharing a cigarette, right?" she said.

He pulled back just enough to see her mouth, probably lipstick smeared and reddened up. Gillian looked down, focused all her attention on the cigarette there. She stepped on it, some force behind the movement.

"It'll kill you," she said.

It dawned on his face slowly, as he pulled himself so carefully away from her. It was an instant shift, a resignation for them both. And it was long overdue.

They could be friends, yeah. But they were never going to be a pair.

He was just another one of her vices.


End file.
